


The Architect, The Forger, and The Point Man

by Sunnyrea



Series: A Trio: The Architect, The Forger and The Point Man [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-09
Updated: 2010-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnyrea/pseuds/Sunnyrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The problem of being so good at what they do is the high amount of work traffic it brings; reputation preceding them and all that. But someone has to be the best and Arthur, Ariadne, and Eames do not shrink from the task. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Architect, The Forger, and The Point Man

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third in my series trilogy, the first being [Extraction by Three](http://archiveofourown.org/works/113095) and the second [Life in a Dreaming Trio](http://archiveofourown.org/works/127301). It would make the most sense to read the others first since they are awesome but this can be read alone as well. Enjoy!

The Architect and the Point man, the Forger back at the apartment, walk down a street in Paris with recent food purchases in hand. Tonight, for the three of them, is a night off from their ever growing jobs and requests for dream thefts. The problem of being so good at what they do is the high amount of work traffic it brings; reputation preceding them and all that. But someone has to be the best and Arthur, Ariadne, and Eames do not shrink from the task. They do, of course, do other things besides work though.

“Did you grab peppers?” Arthur peers into Ariadne’s bag. “I totally forgot.”

Ariadne nods and pushes Arthur’s face away. “Of course I did. You might not cook but some of us know how to buy ingredients.”

“What are you making again?” Arthur still looks at her bag skeptically.

Ariadne sighs and rolls her eyes. “Pasta is hardly dangerous, Arthur, relax.”

“Maybe not other people’s pasta.”

Ariadne just rolls her eyes with a tiny smirk.

The two of them reach Ariadne’s apartment and she opens the door for Arthur, following after. They weave up and up the wooden steps to the sixth floor and down to apartment 612. Arthur opens the door then slips around the corner to the right and into the small, white kitchen. Eames looks up from the stove as Arthur comes in.

“Did you get the thyme and garlic?”

Arthur makes a worried face as he puts the bag down on the counter overlooking the sitting room behind him. Eames cocks an eyebrow. Arthur grins then pulls two bottles out of his bag and hands them to Eames.

“Ah, my prince.”

“Of the food shopping.”

Eames smiles and sets the jars down on the counter beside the stove. “Always good to contribute.”

“If Ariadne had a piano I could be the entertainment.”

“Sorry, Arthur.” Ariadne puts her bag beside Arthur’s as she walks into the kitchen and begins taking things out. “I’m not buying a grand piano for my apartment just so you can play it.”

“Who said grand? I only have a baby grand and Eames’ is just an upright.”

Ariadne snorts and slides over to Eames, peeking into the sauce pan on the stove where onions are sautéing. Eames smiles at her and bumps her with his hip. She opens the bottle of thyme and throws in a pinch. He bats her away.

“Who’s making the soup here?”

“My stove.”

Eames just ‘tsks’ back at her. He picks up a bowl and sprinkles some sugar over the onions. Ariadne hands him a spatula from where it hangs on the wall without being asked. Then she opens a cabinet and takes out a bag of pasta.

“Am I going to get my stove space soon to make the sauce?”

“Patience, this is a many step process.”

“Does that mean we’ll never eat?” Arthur asks suddenly.

They turn to look at Arthur now sitting in a high chair on the sitting room side of the counter.

“Have no fear, darling. You shall not starve.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m so relieved.”

“Here.” Ariadne pulls some Gouda and Brie from her refrigerator and puts them on a plate on the counter, pushing the bags aside. She then pulls two boxes of crackers from one bag, tossing the empty paper bag on another counter. She pulls a cheese knife from a drawer and places it dramatically beside the plate. “Hors d'oeuvres!”

Arthur quickly pulls a cracker from one box and uses it to scrape off a chunk of Brie. Eames and Ariadne hiss.

“Oh, come now, Arthur,” Eames complains.

Ariadne picks up the knife and forces it into Arthur’s hand. Arthur just grins back.

“So worth the faces.”

They both laugh then Ariadne cuts herself some Gouda and puts it on a cracker.

“Oh, whatever.” She waves a shooing hand over the cheese. “It’s my apartment; you can be classless if you want.”

“When am I ever really classless?”

“He has a point.” Eames smiles. “Even in dreams he finds a way to keep his Windsor knot.”

“I have my standards.”

“Well, if we’re being classy.” Ariadne walks around Eames to the other side of the kitchen. Under the window sits a wine rack and she pulls a bottle of Merlot out and sets it down on the counter top in front of Arthur. “Will you do the honors, sir, since you’re not doing anything else?”

Arthur only raises an eyebrow and holds out his hand. “Cork screw?”

Eames opens a drawer and hands it over his shoulder to Ariadne who hands it to Arthur. Arthur twists in the screw and pulls out the cork as Ariadne places three glasses in front of him on the counter. Eames pours a few more ingredients into his sauce pan, covers it, then turns around just as Arthur finishes pouring the wine. The three of them each reach out and take a glass.

“So, are we toasting?” Arthur asks.

Eames looks at Ariadne. “To dinner?”

Arthur points at Eames. “To french onion soup.”

“To us,” Ariadne says, “the best of the best.”

They all smile slowly, clink their glasses together and drink.

\------------

Eames, Arthur and Ariadne grab the metal banister and heave themselves up the ladder one after another, climbing faster than normal physics should allow.

“I blame you!” Ariadne shouts as they go.

“Ariadne…”

“Shut up, Arthur, it is all his fault!”

They reach the next deck and everything tilts to the right, all three sliding into the wall, planting hands against it to keep from falling. One of the deck hands comes running for them but Arthur gets there first, swiping out his feet from under him so the man slams hard against the wall. Ariadne grasps his arm before he can recuperate and throws him down the ladder they just came up.

“Do not act so upset, Ariadne,” Eames says as they continue down the hall, half on the floor and half against the wall. “What is a ship dream without some sinking?”

“Oh, sure!” Ariadne grumbles and opens a door in the wall. “And now Stephanie is going to freak out and everything will fall apart.”

“Eames didn’t make the ship sink,” Arthur points out then jumps through the door.

“Oh, he didn’t?”

Eames slides inside after Arthur, a prep room for the kitchen with walls of shelves full of dishes and cooking pots and pans leaning precariously, some falling as they go through. Ariadne follows Eames and hits him in the shoulder from behind for good measure. Eames strides across the downward slanted floor perfectly, plates and silverware under foot, as though it’s a walk in the park.

“A good sailor, especially one steering the ship, should be able to handle distraction.”

“Oh, and the rocking ship certainly makes me feel better about your expectations.”

Arthur reaches the door and sighs. “You finished?”

“He had the girl pressed into a wall!” Ariadne snaps.

“Yes, I noticed.”

Eames stops in the doorway to the ballroom and looks back at Ariadne. She halts in front of him, one foot balanced against the door frame to keep her upright. Eames points behind her.

“Now, would you rather I’d missed the point of my forge and have our mark think I was a faithful boyfriend?”

Ariadne sighs and Eames nods.

“Exactly, wouldn’t get us the right information very well if she was pleased as punch on her little cruise, eh? Can you blame me that the nearest female at the moment she found me happened to be at the helm?”

Ariadne pouts. “You know it’s just you being dramatic.”

Eames grins.

“All right, enough!” Arthur grabs them both and shoves them down through the doorway. “We’re on a job and you’re just upset your perfect architecture is getting wet.”

Ariadne gapes and nearly falls face forward down the tilted ballroom floor. “More like confused.”

Inside all the tables in the room are somehow still connected to the floor leaning with the ship. Plates and table cloths continue to slide down the floor toward the wall on the right. The projections are a curious combination of completely unperturbed sitting in chairs, still talking, or shouting in surprise as they fall.

“This is rather twisted…” Eames whispers.

“Yeah,” Ariadne hisses, “But like Arthur said, we’re here to work.” She then lets herself slide down the floor, swiveling around tables like an ice skater, shouting back at them. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Eames huffs. “So picky.”

“You are sinking the ship.” Arthur waves a hand at the odd incline on which they stand.

“I certainly am not.” Arthur cocks an eyebrow and Eames shrugs. “I am simply helping it learn a new way of sailing.

Arthur shakes his head giving Eames a look then he points toward the stage. “Well, your lady is here now, sitting alone.”

Indeed, the redhead sits at a slanted table close to the stage with two wine glasses, one half finished in front of her and another full and waiting. Unlike the rest of the dishware falling through the air, her two glasses sit glued to the table. When Arthur looks back beside him there now stands a taller man with sandy blond hair. Eames flashes a bright, perfect teeth smile and near the stage Stephanie begins to stand up on cue.

“She sees you,” Arthur says though he’s looking beyond Eames at Ariadne leaning at the bar where she’d built the dream’s safe. “Doesn’t seem to notice the altered dream right now and the safe is still locked.”

“Might need one more push.”

Arthur’s eyes turn to the blond. He has a mischievous smile on his face and is fingering the collar of Arthur’s shirt. Arthur snorts.

“I’m not sure who would kill you first, her or Ariadne.”

“It would make for a lovely race.”

Suddenly a waitress carrying a tray with three glasses of champagne climbs by them heading up the tilt of the floor. Eames drops his hand and touches the woman on the shoulder. She stops and turns to him. He picks up one of the glasses, taking a sip, hand still on her arm.

“My angel.” He tilts the glass at her, stepping into her personal space. “Arriving in the nick of time to save my life.”

She smiles and nods. “You’re welcome, sir.”

Eames kisses her cheek, a few seconds longer than convention, then leans away grinning and downs the last of the champagne. She steps back then walks away. Eames watches her go, lecherous grin on his chiseled playboy face.

Arthur shakes his head. “Tricks…”

They suddenly hear an angered squeak and all the tables begin to crash then roll down the floor. Stephanie runs up the incline, incensed, and through a doorway out of the ballroom. The projections all snap to attention, trying to scramble up and converge on Arthur and Eames. The blond man clicks and Eames appears as himself again, throwing his empty glass to the side.

“Pushed too hard?”

“Or just enough?” Ariadne shouts from the wall and they see the door of the safe swing open.

She grabs the envelope inside as the ship jolts violently. The incline switches so the ship is flat again. It lasts for all of seven seconds before everything starts shaking.

“See? Dramatic dreaming, Eames!” Ariadne shouts but they can see she is laughing underneath. “This is why we can’t let you dream. You sink things!”

Arthur grabs Eames’ shoulder to steady himself then the two run toward Ariadne. She rips open the folder, reads the papers then slaps them down on the bar. The three meet together at the arched doorway. She grins and sighs.

“All right, I’m not mad anymore.”

“Oh yes? And why is that?” Eames raises an eyebrow, holding onto a faux column flanking the archway. “It’s still shaking.”

“Because your tricks worked and you were right.” Ariadne points at the door their mark went through. “Jealous gold digger!”

Arthur laughs and Eames snaps his fingers.

Ariadne shrugs. “Plus, now this boat is like an amusement park ride!”

Then suddenly the boat seems to bounce. They all spring up into the air, floating like Wiley Coyote off a cliff then they slam back down again. The three extractors wobble and behind them the chandelier from the high ceiling crashes down into the middle of the dance floor.

“Okay, this dream is done,” Arthur barks, grabbing the other two by the arms, “let’s make for the main deck.”

They race out into the hall and suddenly the projections are on them. Hands grab at them from all sides, yanking shirts and ripping through fabric with fingers like scissors. Arthur whips out his gun shooting left and right, two men down and a punch to his side. Arthur hits the wall and kicks back. Eames ducks a punch and jumps out of the way as two projections try to slam him into the floor. They’re too fast to fight back. Ariadne kicks a woman in the knee then crouches, pulls a gun from the holster in her boot and stands again, shooting three projections in the chest.

“Come on!” Arthur heaves himself away from the wall and elbows an opening through the projections. “We’ve got the information, forget it!”

Ariadne screams before she can reply as a bullet tears through her arm. She spins, arm clamped over the wound, and smashes the offending projection in the face with the butt of her gun. Eames takes two steps toward her, grabs her hand and pulls her along.

“Why do they always shoot my arm?” Ariadne gasps.

“Because they know you hate it,” Arthur replies, patting her shoulder.

Ariadne groans and the three of them run down the hall, Arthur bringing up the rear so he can pivot every few feet and shoot behind them. Finally they reach a curved metal door with a porthole and Eames grabs the door handle.

“On to the deck we go,” Eames singsongs and yanks it open.

They run out into the rain outside, slipping on the wet deck as the boat seems to try and buck them off. Arthur slams the door closed behind them just as the closest projection pursing them crashes into it. He leans his shoulder hard against it as Eames drags a metal chest from the side on the deck in front of it. Arthur stands and wipes his hands together, water dripping down his face.

“Stowed.”

“Would that be a ship joke?” Eames asks with a smile.

Arthur quirks an eyebrow. “More of a pun.”

“Not really.” Ariadne slides backward slowly until she is leaning against the guard rail. “And it wasn’t funny.”

Arthur just frowns at her.

“I felt it was very amusing, dear,” Eames says then to Ariadne, “no raining on his parade.”

They all look up at the black sky and storming rain then down again at each other. Their laughs chime together through the swirl.

Ariadne sighs and smiles. “Okay, okay.”

“Disappointed our girl wasn’t a real romantic, eh?”

“Maybe just once I’d like our mark to be innocent.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Oh, never.”

Abruptly the boat shakes again. Arthur slips, Ariadne stumbles, Eames flails his arms then gravity changes its mind. The rain pauses, the ocean heaves itself upward and their feet leave the deck. Their eyes connect as one, blinking together, and they sit up in the hotel room before they hit the water.

“That went well,” Arthur says, standing up from the floor.

Ariadne slides off the bed, checking on their slumbering mark in a chair. Arthur pulls the tubes from their arms and resets the pieces of the PASIV device. Still on the bed, Eames curls his feet up under him, watching the two. After a moment they stop and look back.

“Yes?” Arthur asks.

“I just realized.”

They wait and when Eames doesn’t continue Ariadne clears her throat, playing along. “Realized what?”

“Well, we were on a ship at sea and none of us drowned.”

Arthur snorts clearly in spite of himself, “No, we did not.”

A grin begins to creep over Ariadne’s face.

Eames waves a causal hand. “Didn’t even fall in.”

Ariadne shakes her head. “No.”

“No ship bow below water.”

Arthur chokes back a chuckle and Ariadne clears her throat again. “I don’t think so.”

“Thus, I did not sink the ship.”

Arthur bursts out laughing and Ariadne groans loudly. Eames grins and stands up, touching Ariadne’s nose.

“Told you so.”

“I hate you again.”

Arthur chuckles further, passing the silver case to Eames. “Come on kids, let’s actually finish the job and report.”

“Yes, Captain,” Eames and Ariadne chorus.

\------------

“That is not what I said!” Eames all but screams across the room when he jumps up from the couch.

“That’s not the point!” Arthur shouts back and nearly barrels into the piano bench on his march over to Eames. “You can’t take jobs without asking us.”

“You’re only upset because you weren’t the one to say yes.”

“That is ridiculous!”

“Please!” Ariadne cries, trying to grab both their arms. “We can fix it, just stop –“

They both shake Ariadne off, never looking away from each other. Arthur points violently at Eames.

“This is not something we can do. It’s too dangerous, too dangerous for you. You are just being cocky and showing off like you always do!”

Eames laughs harshly. “Oh, that is bloody brilliant, Arthur! Too dangerous?” He throws his arms up in the air. “Our jobs are always dangerous!”

“Not like this! Not when the mark is the president of a fucking country!”

“Oh, but we went through inception coming out with our skins intact and that doesn’t give you any view back of ‘oh perhaps we have some dangerous experience?’”

Arthur huffs and runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t spin this. We can’t do this job; it’s not worth this level of exposure and danger just to prove you can do three forges in one dream.”

Eames scoffs loudly. “You think it’s all about that, about me being the supposed showy playboy? You just don’t like the idea of not being the one on the front line. Army boy Arthur, ever the martyr taking all the bullets.” Eames suddenly kicks the low table in front of the couch. “Don’t you ever think maybe that bothers me?”

Arthur’s jaw clenches. “That is not what this is about. This is about you wanting to gamble with something more than chips, with our lives!”

“Arthur!” Ariadne gasps.

“What?” Eames eyes go wide in fury. “How can you fucking say that to me?”

“You didn’t even ask us, didn’t even ask me!” Arthur throws his die across the room behind him hitting the kitchen counter. “You’re always just a god damn showman, who cares if it kills one of us or you?”

Eames growls. “Well, you’re too full of some sense of entitlement from your years with Cobb; you in self imposed exile because that’s what you do, fall on your sword because you’re the noble white knight, aren’t you?”

“You’re both being ridiculous about the other getting hurt!” Ariadne shouts unexpectedly. “That’s all it is!”

They both look at her suddenly and she steps back with the combined force of their anger turned on her. Eames shakes his head and rubs a hand over his jaw. He stares at Arthur again, hands on his hips.

“I said yes to the job because we could do it and I didn’t need your permission, Arthur, darling.” He spits out the term of endearment without any of the normal warm tone. “I can do it without you if you’re so bull headedly opposed.”

“Me being a stick in the mud?” Arthur counters, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Oh.” Eames widens his eyes comically. “Got it now, have you?”

“Fine.” Arthur turns away and walks to the door, grabbing his coat off the rack. “Do what you want. It’s your fucking funeral.”

“Arthur, wait! Don’t be ridiculous!” Ariadne gasps.

“Oh, yes, be the martyr!” Eames shouts.

Arthur flings open the door, grabbing his keys, and slams it shut hard behind him. Ariadne runs to the door but stops short in front of it. She looks back at Eames then to the door then back again.

“This is a stupid fight!” She bangs a hand on the door. “Go after him!”

Eames just stares at her silently then strides from the room and down the hall.

By the time Arthur turns the key in the lock to Eames’ apartment the sun has set. He quietly closes the door behind him and sets his keys down. The apartment is dark apart from a light spilling slightly down the back hall coming from the bedroom. Everything is quiet and still.

Arthur begins to walk toward the hall and the light then something in his peripheral vision amiss with the layout of the living room stops him. He turns his head and sees Ariadne and Eames asleep on the couch.

Arthur walks toward them, weaving around Eames’ drafting table still littered with photos from their last job, and sets his coat on the piano bench by the wall. Arthur sits quietly down on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch. Ariadne and Eames sit propped up together with Ariadne’s head on Eames’ shoulder and his cheek on her head. A book rests with one cover open beside Ariadne’s right hand, the rest of the pages fallen closed. They breathe quiet and even and the sight makes Arthur smile.

Arthur rubs his tongue over his teeth and blows out a puff of air. “Okay…” He touches Eames’ cheek gently and whispers, “Eames.”

Eames does not stir.

Arthur leans forward a bit more, thumb stroking the line of Eames’ hair, and he touches Eames’ hand. “Eames,” he says again.

Eames breathes in deep and slow. He fingers tighten around Arthur’s as he breathes out. He then opens his eyes and lifts his head carefully off of Ariadne’s.

Arthur drops his hand from Eames’ cheek. “Hi.”

Eames does not smile but he doesn’t look angry either.

“What time is?” he asks.

Arthur turns over his wrist to look at his watch. “11:21.”

Eames does not comment on the hour but his expression shows a hint of relief that Arthur is home at all. Eames lets go of Arthur’s hand and sits up as much as the weight of Ariadne on his shoulder will allow.

“Have a good walk around London, did you?”

Arthur sighs. “Eames… I…”

Suddenly, Ariadne breathes in sharply and sits up with a sway. She blinks her eyes open and runs her hands through her hair. Shaking her head, she slowly takes in her surroundings then notices Arthur and Eames watching her.

“Oh,” she clears her throat, “hi, uh, hi… oh, wow, I’m still here.”

“Yes,” Eames and Arthur say together.

“You’re back,” she says to Arthur.

“I am.”

She looks at Eames, looks at Arthur, then back at Eames. She clears her throat again and stands up.

“Well, guess that means I should head out of here.”

Eames laughs a bit weakly and holds up Ariadne’s book. “I suppose so.”

She takes the book and smiles in a thin line. Her eyes flick between them a few times until Arthur rotates back toward her where he sits. She focuses on him and glares with a smile.

“Good bye, Ariadne.”

She scrunches her nose at him then heads to the door. Turning the handle, she looks back once, smiles at them then waves the hand holding her book as she walks out, door clicking shut behind her.

“Mommy Ariadne,” Arthur mutters.

“Don’t belittle her for caring.”

Arthur’s head jerks up in surprise at Eames’ chastising tone and words. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Eames sighs and pulls himself up out of the sag of the couch, hunching forward toward Arthur and resting his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled at his lips. “So?”

“So.”

They stare at each other, the argument replaying in their looks, switching back and forth from angry again to upset to defeated and somehow resting on simple calm and collected.

“I was being cocky,” Eames admits first.

“I was being a martyr,” Arthur counters.

They both laugh and slowly rest their foreheads together. Arthur slips his hand into Eames and squeezes once.

“The President of Morocco? Really?”

“Hmm, yes, already canceled.” Eames laughs again. “’Gamble with something more than chips,’ looking for a Pulitzer there?”

Arthur just snorts, pressing his nose forward into Eames’. Eames smiles, closing his eyes and takes a deep breath in. Then Eames pulls back so they can look at each other.

“So, I suppose this is where we reach forgiveness?”

Arthur laughs then pulls Eames back to him into a kiss. “I was there two hours ago.”

\--------------

Ariadne stares up at the tall building in front of them. “This is it? I expected something more...”

“More what?” Eames raises an eyebrow at her.

Arthur points at it and looks at the other two. “It's yellow.”

“I don't know.” Ariadne shrugs. “It is Mozart… more flair, more classical ornamentation?”

“He was born here.” Eames waves a hand in the air. “Not exactly his choice.”

“It’s yellow.” Arthur points with both hands.

Eames crosses his arms. “Didn't live here forever and he died poor and drunk so what do you expect?”

“No gold sign at least.”

“That’s what happens to tourist attractions.” Eames raises one arm and snaps his fingers. “Must advertise.”

“Talk about ruining the architecture.”

“It’s yellow!”

“We know it’s yellow!” Ariadne and Eames both shout to Arthur between them.

Arthur’s eyes slide from left to right as the other two stare at him. Then they all turn and gaze back up at the six story building, flat yellow front with gold lettering part way up reading ‘Mozarts Geburtshaur.’ A few of the white windows on the third floor stand open and there is currently a small line to get inside.

Arthur crosses his arms and nudges Eames with his elbow. “Well, you'll fit right in.”

Eames lifts his chin. “I rarely wear yellow.”

Arthur and Ariadne look down at his orange shirt.

“Close enough,” Ariadne says.

“You flatter me.”

Arthur and Ariadne snort loudly in time. Eames just rolls his eyes. They stare up at the building. Ariadne pulls her camera from her bag and snaps a few pictures. She then leans forward slightly to peer around at the men.

“So, are we going in?”

“We do have an appointment to keep,” Arthur points out.

“And I do hate lines,” Eames adds.

“So, no then?”

Eames looks at her. “Are you are an avid Mozart fan?”

“I prefer Baroque.”

Arthur and Eames’ heads twist slowly around toward her. She looks back.

“What? Baroque is all about the polyphony, building the sound with layer upon layer. It’s just like architecture.”

“Are you saying your interests all come back to your profession?”

Ariadne glares at Eames. “They branch out.”

“All right,” Arthur grabs each of their shoulders and turns them away. “Let’s just go to Claus’ like we planned.”

Arthur heads off away from the musical landmark, Eames and Ariadne following. They turn down a street, passing stores full of Mozart paraphernalia, beer steins, Austrian flags, and sheet music, ‘Do, re, mi.’

Ariadne slides up beside Arthur, nudging him with her elbow. “Sing something from 'The Sound of Music.'”

Arthur scoffs. “No way.”

“Aww,” Ariadne whines, “come on. We’re in the right city; ‘16 going on 17’ or ‘Edelweiss?’”

“I’d rather be stabbed by Mal on the 3rd layer and fall into limbo.”

Ariadne hisses in shock. “Oh my god, harsh!”

“He does not care for 'The Sound of Music,'” Eames calls from behind. “Not much of a fan of Julie Andrews or seven singing children.”

Ariadne glances at Eames then shakes her head at Arthur. “That’s got to be un-American or something, not liking Julie Andrews.”

“Good thing we’re in Austria.”

“And she’s English,” Eames pipes up.

Ariadne gives Eames the finger and laughs as Arthur guides them down another street until they come out into Residenzplatz square, fountain in the middle with tourists posing around it. They cross straight through the square, weaving around the crowds of people. Ariadne throws a coin into the fountain when they pass near enough.

As they walk under an arch out of the square, Eames hands a pocket watch to Arthur with a smile. Arthur ‘tut tuts’ but doesn’t seem to be able to form a proper expression of disapproval.

“Eames,” Ariadne chides.

Eames shrugs. “Must keep one’s abilities sharp. Who knows when this dream business will go bust and I’ll be forced back to petty theft?”

Arthur examines the pocket watch in his hand, low by his waist, then slips it into his coat pocket. He takes Eames’ hand, thumb brushing over the top, and smiles.

“Thank you.”

Ariadne bites the edge of her thumb nail and flicks up her finger tips. “And no light fingered present for me?”

Eames makes an expression of ‘oops’ as Arthur turns to the left down another side street.

Ariadne shakes her head at Eames and points. “Not buying you a souvenir then.”

They finally stop after a few more turns in front of a tall gray building on a more residential street, the throngs of tourists dying down to a trickle of only the lost ones staring incomprehensibly at maps in German. If one walks a few yards onward and turns to the right they can still see the Hohensalzburg Fortress looming over as a watchman for the city’s safety, hardly a necessity now except in tourism profit. The building in front of them is plain compared to the churches and squares of Salzburg but the structure still has little touches of Baroque architecture as all the buildings in old town do. Ariadne’s eyes sweep up and down the face like she’s ticking off terms from a text book.

“Not yellow,” Eames whispers in her ear and she giggles.

Arthur steps over to the list of names and apartments beside the door then presses the buzzer for the third one down. They wait a few moments, Eames tapping his foot, then the speaker crackles.

“Ja?”

“Claus, ist es uns,” Arthur responds.

“Was?”

Arthur sighs and puts his mouth right against the speaker. “Ist es uns!”

Laughter filters out of the speaker. Eames and Ariadne glance at each other. Eames is fighting an amused grin.

“I just wanted to make you say it again,” the voice says, laughter still in his tone. “Your accent is terrible, Arthur.”

Eames snorts and chuckles, hand against his mouth.

Arthur crosses his arms. “Arschloch.”

“Ja, du magst es.” The door buzzes and Ariadne steps forward to pull the door open. “You come up now.”

The three walk through the door and head straight up the stairs. They climb until they reach the top level of the building and Arthur leads them down the hall to stop in front of a blue door at the end. Before he can knock, the door swings open to reveal a tall man with ear-length, light brown hair standing within. He smiles, cigarette in his right hand, and nods forward.

“Who’s the new one?”

Arthur glances back at Ariadne then shakes his head at Claus. “You have her picture. You know who she is.”

“Ja, but I like to be introduced to people, not photos.” He takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing out smoke, and bows slightly at Ariadne.

She raises both her eyebrows.

“Can we come in now?” Arthur grumbles.

Claus laughs and waves them all inside. They follow, Eames closing the door and locking it behind them. The walls are white, everything clean and neat, kitchen to their left as they enter the living room and a hall to the right. Book shelves line the wall on either side of the wide doorway into the kitchen, Faulkner, three biographies of Mozart, Kirst, Müller, Hemmingway.

“For Whom the Bell Tolls?” Ariadne asks.

Claus looks back at her. “You do not like war books?”

“I don’t like Hemmingway.”

He pouts. “Too stark and simple for your refined taste, Fräulein?”

“I prefer authors who actually know a thing or two about women.”

“You think he’d met any?” Eames chuckles and walks around Claus, the later still gazing appreciatively at Ariadne.

Ariadne turns and taps the edge of the book on the shelf then curves back around. “Doubtful.”

Claus nods once at Ariadne and points with his cigarette. “Point and match, as you say.”

“As Eames says,” Arthur corrects.

“I do not say that,” Eames calls from down the hall. He pokes his head around the corner at them and gestures behind him. “Are we getting new passports or not?”

Claus pivots on the spot and throws his arms out. “Of course, master.”

“I love when you call me that.”

Arthur grunts with annoyance then follows, Ariadne behind him. They turn the corner and Ariadne sees a circular metal staircase leading up into the ceiling. An ashtray rests at the foot of the stairs which Claus quickly stubs his cigarette out in before climbing the steps behind Eames. Ariadne looks up at the stairs then cocks a questioning eyebrow at Arthur. He smiles as he begins to twist upward.

“Claus rents the attic space for his special profession in exchange for comp requisitions for the landlord.”

“He is not so good at keeping his record clean,” Claus calls down, his feet disappearing through the square hole in the ceiling where the stairs lead.

Ariadne laughs. “Classic.”

Once through the hole and at the top of the stairs, they enter a medium sized rectangle room, flat ceiling, unlike what most Americans from triangle roofed abodes would expect from an attic. Unlike the cleanliness and order of the apartment below, this space boasts an almost chaotic mess of items strewn about the room. The wall to the right is lined by a tall metal filing cabinet, a large wheel of plastic, one intricate metal machine – Ariadne’s brain decides to classify it as ‘passport press’ – to the left of the filing cabinet, and another machine with glass sides at the other end beside the plastic wrap. To the left are two long metal tables covered in clippings and scissors and people’s faces, photos plastered to the wall above. Rolls of thin wire are stacked somewhat precariously against the wall, several jars of some sort of glue lined up, what looks like stacks of computer chips and all sorts of fine metal tools. Straight back from the stairs is one window in the wall, thin blue paper covering it from the world outside with boxes piled around it. The whole thing just screams ‘illegal’ and makes Ariadne grin.

“So.” Claus walks over to the filing cabinet, unlocking it with a key from around his neck. “Passports for my pretty extractors.”

“And by pretty, you mean me?” Eames says as he sits on a stool in front of one table.

Claus pulls his head out of the cabinet and stares at Eames, eyes flicking up and down him twice. He smiles but does not respond before returning his head to the cabinet. Eames scoffs and looks at the other two.

“I feel slighted.”

Ariadne chuckles. “Do you want to have a beauty contest, Eames?”

“With Claus as the judge?” Arthur leans against table beside Eames. “Because I’d be biased.”

“Hmmm, sleeping with a judge. What scandal.”

Arthur shrugs absently and dances his fingers up Eames’ arm.

“So, I’d win by default?” Ariadne winks.

Suddenly, Claus closes the door to the cabinet, a stack of passports in his hand.

“You want these, ja?”

They all clear their throats, very official and important. Claus walks over, pulling three off the stack and handing them to Arthur.

“U.S., Germany, and France for the point man.”

Arthur takes the stack, checking them all quickly before slipping them into his coat pocket. “Vielen dank.”

Claus holds out three for Eames. “England, Italy, and Kenya.”

Arthur makes a derisive noise as Eames takes the passports, muttering something which sounds a lot like ‘fucking Mombasa.’ Eames’ eyes flick to Arthur then back to his passports. Flipping through them quickly, his face twitches and he holds them up.

“What is this?”

Claus shrugs. “What?”

“What did I say about using my real name?”

“How does he even know your real name?” Ariadne asks.

Arthur gives her a skeptical look and points at Claus. “He is a forger.”

Claus wiggles Ariadne’s passports still in his hand. “A real one.”

“I am quite real.” Eames flicks his fingers against the passports in his hands. “And my name is still on here.”

Claus sighs. “It’s not matched to your last name which, you will note, is not on any of those. Problem? None. Exactly.”

Arthur leans over Eames’ shoulder and looks at the passports. Eames frowns and stuffs them into his pocket. Arthur smiles and kisses his temple.

“I may have offered him a tip to do that.”

Eames gapes then clamps his mouth shut and breathes out slowly through his nose. “Oh, darling, declaring war.”

Arthur nods. “Yep.”

“And,” Claus says loudly as he walks over to Ariadne, “for the beautiful architect: U.S. and Canada.”

Eames tilts his head. “You didn’t get France?”

“I still have two good ones for France.” She smiles and takes the passports from Claus as she stares at Eames. “Of course.”

Claus stays standing in front of Ariadne. He puts his hands on his hips and shifts back and forth from the balls of his feet to his toes. “So, do you like them?”

Ariadne holds up the Canadian passport, “Marieve, very nice name.”

“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

“Ugly names for ugly women?”

Claus laughs. “Of course not. I would never curse even the worst client with a name like Helga or Gertrude.”

“Gertrude isn’t so bad,” Arthur insists.

Ariadne scoffs. “Yes, it is.”

Claus smiles smugly at Arthur then turns back to Ariadne. “I know these things.”

“Better than Hemmingway.”

“Ah.” Claus puts his hands flat together. “You see, I have met women.”

“Not just me?”

“You are not the first.”

Ariadne sighs, a touch of sarcasm in the tone. “I’m very disappointed.”

“Of course the others do not compare.”

Ariadne puts her two passports in the bag over her shoulder and crosses her arms. “I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”

“And a few of the boys.”

Ariadne’s causal veneer breaks and she cracks up.

“Oh my.” Eames stands up from his chair and drums his finger tips against his lips. “Perhaps it wasn’t so safe to bring our dear girl here.”

“Well!” Arthur pulls a large roll of Euros out of his pocket and hands them to Claus with a pointed look. “We’re all set then.”

Claus fingers the bills, seeming to weigh them in his hand, then walks to the filing cabinet and closes them inside. He grins. “Happily paid.”

“Happily passported.” Arthur shakes Claus’ hand. “Thanks, as always.”

Eames points at Claus. “No more first names.”

“Nein,” Claus waves his hands in concession, “promise.”

Ariadne leans closer to Claus as Eames walks away, “Or at least not until next time.”

Claus smiles at her then follows Arthur and Eames to the stairs. The four of them descend the curving steps back into Claus’ main apartment. Arthur and Eames head straight to the door but Ariadne stops, lingering near the bookcases. Arthur turns back as Eames opens the door.

“You coming?”

Ariadne glances at Claus leaning against the metal stairs then shakes her head at Arthur. “You go on, I’ll see you later.”

Arthur’s brow crinkles. “You sure?”

Ariadne nods slowly.

Arthur looks at Claus then back at Ariadne. “Really?”

“Come on, dear.” Eames grabs Arthur’s lapel and pulls him through the door.

The door clicks shut then Ariadne walks over to Claus. He watches her until she stops in front of him.

“So,” Ariadne starts, “what are you doing for dinner tonight?”

“Apart from the leftovers in my kitchen?”

“Apart from that.”

Claus breathes in and shrugs in a ‘eh, nothing, I’m so cool, please can we have sex, you’re hot, I’m trying to be calm’ way.

Ariadne smiles slowly. “Then have dinner with me.”

Claus straightens up. “I haven’t been asked on a date in a while.”

“Spending too much time in attics, I bet.”

“Maybe.”

Ariadne crosses her arms, leaning in slightly toward Claus. “Not out cruising the many bright eyed and braided students of Salzburg’s streets?”

Claus laughs and shakes his head. “Unlike Hemmingway, I know real women when I see them and one can afford to be picky.

“Lucky me.” Ariadne looks at her watch. “And guess what, I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”

Claus laughs again and touches her hair. “How kind.”

Hours later at 10:34 Ariadne turns the key in the lock and opens the door to their hotel suite. Arthur looks up sharply then he stands from his chair when he sees it is Ariadne. He opens his mouth but looks like he can’t decide which thing he wants to say. Ariadne drops her bag on the table next to the door then walks over to the couch against the wall on which Eames sits. He turns to look at her once she sits down.

“So?”

Ariadne smiles, bright as electric light. Eames chuckles once.

“What does that mean?” Arthur snaps.

Their heads swivel in Arthur’s direction. He puts up his hands. Ariadne and Eames only smile back.

“Okay? Well, what? Is this some unspoken Ariadne-Eames language no one has clued me in on?”

Ariadne waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, Claus and I were just having sex down by the river.”

Arthur makes a choking noise and falls back in his chair. Eames laughs hard into his hand over his face and bends in half. Arthur stares at her like he’s been slapped. Ariadne sighs.

“Jeeze, Arthur, we had dinner then went for drinks. Though really, if we’d had sex what could you say about it?”

“I just… well….”

“Yeah.” Ariadne points at Eames as he sits up straight. “Not all of us are blessed with English forger boyfriends.”

Eames chuckles again.

“Well, Claus is a charmer, I know,” Arthur says, “I just don’t want you to rush into something since he does live over here and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Thanks, dad.”

Eames snorts, trying to hold back his laughter. “Zing.”

Ariadne and Eames raise their hands and high five without looking at each other. Arthur rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair.

“Oh, stop it, Arthur.” Ariadne throws a pillow at Arthur’s head. “Don’t start thinking I need protecting now.”

Arthur catches the pillow. “Hardly.”

“Just jealous then?”

Arthur bangs the feet of his chair onto the floor and huffs. Eames wipes an imaginary tear from his face.

“My heart is broken.”

Arthur sighs and finally smiles. “Okay, okay, you’re right and Claus isn’t bad despite the fact he likes The Rolling Stones more than The Beatles.”

Eames blinks slowly at Arthur. “He what?”

Ariadne laughs. “Well, when I see him again tomorrow before we leave you can keep all your worries to yourself, right?” She pauses. “Dad?”

“Call me that one more time.”

Ariadne smiles and says nothing.

Eames claps his hands once then pats Ariadne’s shoulder. “Well, I’m sure he’s a good shag, Ariadne.”

“I’ll find out and let you know.”

Arthur groans.

\--------------

Ariadne and Arthur race along maroon carpet in a hotel hallway. Rooms fly by them, door numbers counting up and up as they run. A bullet hits a lamp on the wall and glass shatters around them. They both duck and follow the curve of the hall, Arthur shooting back.

“We should split up!” Ariadne yells. “Eames needs more time, have to keep them occupied.”

They see a T in the hall up ahead and Arthur points.

“I’ll go left, you take right. Meet you in the middle.”

Ariadne smiles. “Glad I thought of circles now?”

“Always thinking.”

Ariadne slams a new clip in her gun. “Got it all from Penrose steps.”

“Ah ha.” Arthur almost hits the wall as they reach the T. “Taught you something.”

“Go!”

They both pivot and break off in opposite directions. As the projections catch up they split in half as well to follow each enemy.

For the architecture in this dreamscape Ariadne came up with a rather cunning plan. Their mark Martin Davis was into some trouble with his father’s company ranging from possible embezzlement to selling company information to the highest competitor. Everything was unclear and, to no one’s surprise, daddy wanted to make sure his son didn’t drag it into court. The board was not quite as trusting. Luckily one of them possessed Arthur’s phone number and Eames’ forging of family lawyers was not without experience.

So, once again they find themselves in a hotel, lawyer Eames in a room with young Mr. Davis going over his statement of the ‘truth.’ Out in the halls the lovely suspicious projections need something to chase, chase in circles in fact. Ariadne designed the hotel so that each floor of rooms looped back around on itself in circles and 8s. Everything leads back to the middle.

Ariadne runs fast as shouting projections fire after her, gaining ground. She raises her hand and as she passes two hotel room doors swing open. She hears a man scream behind her and fall.

“One down.”

The hall curves and she leans unconsciously as she runs, no time to pause and fire back. She passes a house keeping cart and slides it out horizontally behind her with barely a pause. She hears some grunts of surprise and the sound of falling objects. She smiles. Then she sees Arthur coming down the hall toward her.

“Cross!” he shouts.

They meet in the middle, glance at each for a split second, then pass each other and run on straight into the opposite projections. Arthur and Ariadne raise their guns and shoot bullet for bullet. Arthur drops the three following Ariadne and skids to a stop. He whirls around to see Ariadne down the hall shooting the last projection following him. She turns around.

“Done.”

Arthur nods and jogs over to her.

“Down to Eames’ floor?”

She nods. “He should have the information by now, don’t you think?”

“I hope so.” Arthur cracks his neck and quickly looks at his watch. “We have ten, fifteen minutes until the time is up.”

The two extractors hurry to the elevators and ride the two floors down. The moment they exit the elevator onto the floor there are projections waiting for them.

“Shi-” Ariadne starts then Arthur grabs her by the collar of her shirt and yanks her around the corner.

A bullet splitters the wood at the edge of the wall and they rush down the hall.

“304,” Arthur snaps, “we can hide inside until the end!”

“What about Davis?”

Arthur makes a frustrated noise and tries to look at his watch as they move. Ariadne shoves Arthur in the back suddenly.

“You go, check on Eames; I’ll buy you a minute!”

Arthur sprints ahead as Ariadne plants in the middle of the hall, gun in each hand to attack. They can’t rush straight into the room, projections chasing, if the mark is still there; can’t send the whole dream crashing down if Eames’ hasn’t learned his ‘client’s’ side of the story. Arthur knocks loudly on the hotel door.

“Security!”

“Enter.”

Arthur opens the door quickly, eyes darting around the room. One gray haired man with thick glasses sits in a chair, glass of gin in hand. He grins and the smile is all Eames.

“Is Davis here?” Arthur snaps urgently.

“What?” Eames jumps up from his chair and pulls off the glasses, forge fading away. “No, I just found out –”

“Move!” Ariadne shouts and the door hits the wall as she runs in, barely missing Arthur.

Four projections follow her, two barreling into Arthur bringing all three down to the floor. Eames ducks as the two following Ariadne fire at him. Ariadne jumps onto the bed and kicks one man in the chin so he flies back and slams into the wall. The second projection jumps up and tackles Ariadne down onto the bed. On the floor, Arthur wrestles with both projections at once, none really gaining the upper hand.

“Arthur!” Eames shouts.

Arthur looks up, sees Eames with the gin bottle in hand and manages to roll to the right. Eames heaves the bottle through the air and it smashes into the one projection’s head, knocking him out. Arthur gets to his knees and slams the other man down against the floor by his shoulders, punching him twice.

On the bed, Ariadne struggles to gain the upper hand with the woman above her. The projection punches Ariadne in the jaw and gets a knee into her stomach. Ariadne groans, fighting to breathe properly. Eames grabs the woman’s shoulders but she elbows Eames squarely in the jaw and he falls back. Still pinned, Ariadne reaches out blindly at the table by the bedside. Her fingers touch metal and she slams the ice bucket into the side of the woman’s head. It clangs with a perfect movie sound effect and the projection slides off the side of the bed in a heap. Ariadne sits up panting just as Arthur punches the projection below him one last time.

Arthur stands up and motions at the other two. “You both good?”

Eames points to the projection at his feet and raises an eyebrow at Ariadne. "Did you hit her with the ice bucket?"

"What?" Ariadne waves a hand at the fallen bucket. "It was right there!"

Eames raises his eyebrows.

Projections down and way cleared, the trio run back out into the hall to Ariadne’s escape route, stairs straight down through the center of the building. Ariadne leads the way and opens a barely visible door in the wall by the elevators. The three slide through and click the door shut behind them. Then in front of their eyes the stairs snap and crack and slip together out of their pattern to form a slide. Arthur turns to stare at a smug Ariadne.

“I assume you’ve fixed physics so we won’t pick up so much speed going down that we break our bones at the bottom?”

Ariadne scoffs. “Oh, what’s a few broken bones?”

“That your idea of a kick?” Eames asks.

“Did I not tell you guys that? Sorry, thought I put it in the Extraction Packet.”

“Oh, ha ha, you’re so funny.” Arthur pushes Ariadne hard so she stumbles forward and falls onto the slide.

“You little –” but they can’t hear the rest of her words as she begins careening down the twisting path.

Eames gives Arthur a look then jumps down the slide behind the architect.

“She deserved it!” Arthur shouts after Eames, then gracefully sits down and pushes himself off after the others.

\--------------

Arthur stares at the door wanting to smash it open, kick it down, shoot out the lone florescent light above them, just do something because they have to get out of here. Arthur looks at Eames lying on the floor beside him; Eames who is an utter mess because he drew the short straw of ‘person to torture so the other one gives up information.’

They’d both seen the men following them but they couldn’t evade, couldn’t escape. So this is where they ended up, a dingy, abandoned warehouse with five men who wanted some extractor names. And what better way to get them than good old fashioned beating? Ah, but wait, one twist: we’ll hurt one and make the other watch. Now do you want to talk? Arthur hadn’t talked, not a word; he would not give up Dom or Ariadne or any of them. Yet with each grunt and groan and scream of pain from Eames his resolve frayed a little more.

Arthur bites at his lip now, clenching and unclenching his hands. He has to do something. He has to get out if only to get Eames help because he is hurt and not just one bandage hurt. Arthur needs to get out of this room but there is nothing he can do but wait. It’s driving him mad. He can’t stand to be helpless, not when Eames needs him.

Suddenly, Eames opens his eyes. Arthur sits up a little in attention.

“Are we dreaming?” Eames asks quietly.

“No.” Arthur pulls out his die and rolls it near Eames head.

Eames follows its spin with his eyes then looks back at the ceiling when it lands on four, breathing out slowly.

“Hmm, fabulous, I want some scars to show later.” He pauses. “You quite sure?”

Arthur grabs the die and rolls it again, still four. Eames huffs then hisses in pain at the action.

“Ah, well, no trouble. I’ll just not die then.

"You're not going to die."

"Of course not, just told you that."

"Eames..."

Arthur puts his hand on Eames' chest but the other man gasps abruptly with pain and cries out quietly. Arthur jerks his hand back and balls it into a fist against his lips.

"It’s all right," Eames murmurs. "It’s all right."

"No," Arthur says fiercely. "No, its not, Eames."

"Arthur, if there was ever a man who would never break,” he makes a strained noise; “it’s you."

Arthur scoffs sharply. "I appreciate the confidence but... but I don't think..."

Arthur cuts himself off with a sharp breath in. Eames smiles a little and weakly pats Arthur's leg.

"Shh, Arthur."

Arthur suddenly grasps Eames' hand tightly. He leans over and kisses Eames' forehead.

"I'm getting you out of here, baby, okay?"

Eames laughs once weakly. "Oh dear. You've moved into the terms of endearment." He looks up at Arthur and his voice softens. "I must look bad."

Eames turns his head away from Arthur back to the ceiling, closing his eyes. His breath is shallow probably because of the pain from his two or three broken ribs to go with his wrist. The marks on his face are turning into brighter bruises now, purple along his jaw and the first blow he received to his temple with vibrant reds and brown. He has to be bleeding internally and if Arthur checked along Eames’ stomach he’s sure he would find the bruising evidence. Eames has a stream of blood coming from his mouth and more matted around his hair. The most unsettling is the broken blood vessel in his left eye giving him a red ring around his iris.

“I think we need a holiday,” Eames says, eyes turning to Arthur, “certainly deserve it.”

Arthur sighs and just shakes his head.

“Somewhere warm.”

“Eames.” Arthur’s voice is plaintive.

“Or would you rather ski? I can’t say I can… can’t really imagine you skiing.”

Arthur laughs though the sound in hollow. “I’m not big on snow, no.”

Eames chuckles, a shallow sound that comes out sicklier than he clearly intended. “The beach then, show off that lithe body of yours.”

Arthur huffs and runs a hand over his hair. “Margaritas?”

“You on a hotel bed…”

Arthur laughs and leans his head back against the wall. “The sea right out of our window?”

“Hmm.” Eames coughs harshly and rolls his head to each side like it’s a nod. “You standing on the porch wearing nothing but… well, nothing. Glow of a beaut… beautiful morning light.”

Arthur laughs again. Eames smiles at him and closes his eyes.

“My love in the sun.”

“So you can watch me burn instead of tan?” Arthur chides half heartedly. “Now who’s cruel?”

Eames sighs quietly. “Just us… away from… everything.”

Eames falls silent as Arthur watches him, sunshine dreams fading back into the cool, imposing room around them. The lines on Eames’ face seem to deepen as he breathes. He looks so tired, ready for it to be over however it goes. It makes fear leap in Arthur's chest, fear and anger that these damn bastards could bring Eames down. Arthur squeezes Eames' hand again so the other man opens his eyes.

"Don't you give up on me," Arthur says, a touch of desperation in his words, "not now."

"Of course not, darling." Eames' eyes shift slightly onto Arthur and his voice is very serious. "If I give up they move on to you." Arthur can't breathe for a whole second then Eames squeezes his hand back. "Then we'd both be dead, just can't have that."

Eames smiles, expression still disarming and charming beneath the bruises and the pain. Arthur kisses Eames' knuckles and does not let one tear fall.

Twenty-two minutes later the door opens again. Arthur jumps up and lashes out the minute the blond haired man comes through. He grabs for the man’s gun, punches him in the gut but this one time the two against one method works, despite Arthur’s track record of success. The second man punches Arthur in the head and he falls back. Arthur moves to rise again but the blond cocks his gun.

“Don’t.”

Arthur stays at a crouch, tense and wanting to attack like an animal, tear them apart. Eames pulls himself up slowly onto his elbows, an excruciating expression on his face.

“Back for more?” he rasps.

“I thought you might have missed us,” the second one says then kicks Eames harshly in the side.

Eames screams and falls back down. Arthur jumps up and the blond slams him against the wall, gun at his throat.

“Relax, pretty boy.” He digs in the gun. “Unless you have something to tell us?”

The other man kicks Eames again in the collar bone and pulls him up by his shirt. Then they suddenly hear what sounds like a ‘bang’ out in the hall. Their two captors jerk and stare at the doorway. Someone shouts something unintelligible. The man drops Eames and looks out into the hall. He turns back inside then motions the blond to follow, door slamming closed behind them.

“Dine and dash…” Eames says weakly.

Arthur crouches back down beside him. “No jokes now.”

“You like my jokes.”

“I do not.” Arthur gently touches Eames’ lips, hand shaking. “I only laugh so I can see you smile.”

“Such lies…” Eames coughs and this time there is blood. “You certainly don’t like my smile, too… too dashing for your stoic… stoic taste.”

Arthur breathes in sharply and kisses Eames. “I love you, I really do.”

“Oh…” Eames’ struggles to keep his eyes open. “Oh, darling.”

Then the lights blink out and back on again. They hear shots, shouting, things breaking, crashing. It seems like slow motion, unreal salvation at the right time. Suddenly the door swings in, violently slamming against the concrete. Ariadne stands in the door way with gun in hand. She is sweaty and panting with blood at the edge of her mouth and she is the most beautiful thing in the whole world.

"Arthur?" She stares at them both then her eyes focus completely on Eames, half unconscious beside Arthur. The anger he sees in her face is indescribable. "Oh god... Eames..."

"Ariadne?" It's Dom who suddenly appears beside her. "Found us a back exit."

Arthur blinks in surprise. "Dom?"

Dom reaches out and pulls Arthur to his feet. He smiles and quickly hands Arthur a gun.

"Ariadne needed a hand breaking you two out, so here I am. Consider it a belated 'sorry' for all those years of Mal shooting you."

Arthur huffs with slight disbelief. He looks at Ariadne, now kneeling down beside Eames, checking his bruises and cursing under her breath. He turns back to Dom and his voice sounds like steel.

"Did you kill them all?"

"I... uh, no."

Arthur does not say anything more, just whips around Dom and out of the room. Ariadne and Dom stare at his back in surprise. Then Eames touches Ariadne's arm and she looks down at him.

"You may want to stop him."

By the time Dom catches up to Arthur, Arthur’s clip is empty with five bodies around him on the floor. Not one bullet missed and Arthur isn’t sorry or upset or anything but satisfied.

\---------------

Ariadne sits at the bar, the glow of dim red and blue lights flashing off the expensive glasses. She stares at the pink cocktail in front of her. It looks like sugary shit. Out of the corner of her eye she can see the mark looking at her. Somehow he hasn’t drummed up the balls to come over and talk to her. She taps her fingers on the bar top and sighs. Really, men are such wimps. She stands and plasters a smile on her face.

“Arthur, you owe me,” she grumbles to herself and walks down the bar to slip into a new seat.

The man on the bar stool beside her now perks up as if he hasn’t been watching her for ten minutes. She smiles and rests her head on her hand, looking at him.

“Hi there.”

He smiles. “Hello.”

“Saw you watching me.” Ariadne feigns a slip of her elbow as she sits up straight. “Thought you might want some company.”

“Ah, yeah,” he smiles more, “you too then. Someone stand you up?”

Ariadne makes a face. “Not anyone that matters now.”

She suddenly picks up her pink drink. ‘Suck it up, Ariadne.’ Then she downs the sugary alcoholic concoction in one large gulp. The man whistles.

“Wow, impressive. Would you like another?”

“I’d like something,” Ariadne says touching his arm. “What’s your name?”

“Tom, yours?”

Ariadne smiles and shakes her head. The man’s name is Brett Radcliff. She pushes the glass by her to the side then stands up.

“Let’s get to the point.”

His eyebrows fly up but he can’t stop staring at her in her tight light blue dress stopping at her thighs. He’s trying to look at her face but his eyes keep flicking down then dragging back up like it’s a struggle. She’s already won.

Ariadne cocks out her hip and motions to the door. “I have a room upstairs. You game?”

He stands and finishes his beer. “Absolutely.”

The minute Ariadne closes the hotel room door behind her Brett has her pushed up against the door with his lips, kissing up and down her neck. Ariadne tries not to grimace but, really, the man smells like Axe and, despite the commercials, it’s annoying. Ariadne manages to slide out from under him and prances over to the bar against the wall. She pours two vodka rocks with an extra dash of sedative for Brett. She holds out the glasses.

“One more to smooth the way?” She smiles wide, face brash and powerful and in control, just the kind of dominating lady their mark enjoys.

He takes the glass and clinks it against hers. “I’ve known you five minutes, don’t even know your name, but you are rising to the top of my ‘most interesting women’ list.”

She laughs. “Is it the mystery or the dress?”

He gulps down half the drink with a hiss. “Both.”

Brett puts the glass aside and pulls Ariadne toward him, kissing her again. He slowly walks her backward as he kisses, hands lingering at the bottom of her dress. Then he eases her down on the bed so he’s on top of her. Ariadne keeps her hands passive on his back as he kisses her jaw then moves back to her lips. Suddenly he jerks back and stares at her. Ariadne sees him blink quickly like a flick, like he can’t quite focus on her.

“I can’t… what did you…”

Then he falls forward on top of her.

“Finally!”

The door to the bathroom swings open and Arthur and Eames walk out. Arthur puts the PASIV device down on the bedside table as Eames closes the blinds.

“As much as I adore you, my dear,” Eames says, “I have no need to see you slobbered on.”

“The sedative should last at least an hour, let’s get to work.” Arthur programs in the time on the PASIV device clock.

Ariadne clears her throat. “Would one of you get him off me?”

Eames chuckles and rolls Brett over onto his back. Ariadne slides out of the way, rearranging her dress back into order. Eames wiggles his eyebrows at her. She blows out a puff of air then checks her hair in the mirror.

“God, that was fun,” Ariadne says, voice thick with sarcasm.

Arthur clicks his tongue. “You could have dosed him downstairs, you know.”

“Uh huh, no.” Ariadne waves at the man on the bed. “You saw how fast it was. Marcel does quick work with his drugs. Plus, it was your idea.”

Arthur shrugs. “I didn’t think he’d be quite that easy.”

Eames laughs. “It’s all the dress work, Ariadne.”

“Yes, thank you.” Ariadne points at Eames. “Next time, you can flirt with the mark and make out with him.”

Arthur’s head jerks up. “Or I could just bash him in the head.”

Eames purses his lips as he and Ariadne lay down on either side of Brett. Arthur pushes needles into the three of their arms then the last for himself.

“I’m sure he would have liked you even more than me,” Ariadne says, peeking over Brett at Eames.

“My hips?”

“Your ass,” Arthur says.

Eames and Ariadne both laugh, Eames shaking his head. Arthur hands his mp3 player to Ariadne and she slips the headphones into her ears. She clicks the play button, twenty minutes of silence before their song. Then she props herself up on one elbow as Arthur sits down in a chair by the side of the bed.

“So, it’s agreed? Eames is the eye candy next time?”

Arthur glances at a smug looking Eames then glares back at Ariadne. “Oh, hell no.”

Eames laughs again and Arthur presses the large white button before Ariadne can retort sending them all into quiet, dreaming sleep.

\---------------

Ariadne and Eames run down a narrow alley in Saint Petersburg, projections racing after them practically bouncing off the building walls on either side in their frenzied pursuit.

“This is why you are dreaming this one,” Eames shouts from behind Ariadne, hand keeping his hat on his head. “Far too Russian around here for my taste, just look how gray it is.”

“Stop complaining!”

“How can I not? Even the projections are wearing dull gray and black,” Eames snaps.

“You just want everyone to wear bright red and pink like you!”

Suddenly, a projection gains enough ground to grab Eames’ arm, pulling hard. Eames is yanked backward but the projection over compensated and Eames slams into his chest. The man stumbles, giving Eames the window to elbow him hard in the nose. The man yelps and releases Eames’ arm. Eames takes the opening and punches the man in the stomach. He falls and Eames sprints away again.

“Faster!” Eames shouts as he catches back up to Ariadne.

They turn to the right into a Z shaped split in the side streets. Ariadne jumps up, plants her left foot on the one wall, bounces over the right and spins in the air to shoot over Eames’ head. Eames’ ducks down as Ariadne jumps up and two projections take bullets to the chest. Ariadne lands back on her feet with Eames slipping around to run in front of her.

“You put that turn in just so you could show off and do that,” Eames says with a grin over his shoulder.

Ariadne passes Eames a gun from her jacket. “Maybe.”

“Arthur would be quite jealous.”

“Yes, well –” Ariadne abruptly squeaks as she slips on a puddle of half frozen water. Eames grabs her arm and pulls her up. “– he’s too busy playing international spy.”

A bullet hits the wall beside Eames’ head and a chunk of stone nearly takes out his eye as it flies in front of them. Both duck and turn down another side street, windows slamming closed above them to block escape.

“The tangled web of government workers trying to get more money by turning traitor.” Eames stops, shoots five times behind them as Ariadne runs and ducks under his arms, then turns back. He smiles with fake nostalgia at Ariadne. “How Cold War reminiscent.”

“Yes, but Arthur is no James Bond.”

“He has the suits and a fancy car,” Eames says. “Arthur only needs the accent.”

“Like you?”

Eames’ mouth curves into a grin. “Maybe.”

A door suddenly opens behind them, a bullet whizzing by so close it makes Ariadne’s hair blow up. Both spin around at once and fire back. Two bullets, then Eames hits the man right in the chest so he falls back into the doorway. Ariadne whistles and they’re off again.

“Do you think Arthur has the information yet?” Ariadne asks.

“And that is why I don’t like being the distraction,” Eames says; “we don’t get to learn the secrets first.”

“Oh, please, you love being the distraction.” Ariadne claps her hands. “Silk over womanly hips or break out some curly hair or stealing Arthur’s dress sense; So many bodies to wear, how do you fit them all in your closet?”

“Your humor never ceases to enthuse, dear.”

Ariadne stops suddenly as a man comes around the corner in front of them. Eames almost crashes into her and they both stumble. The man shoots, slicing through the arm of Ariadne’s coat but not actually hitting her body. Eames regroups, standing up straight, and shoves Ariadne down as the man lunges forward. His swing comes up short with Ariadne out of the way and Eames cold cocks him before he can try again. Ariadne slides out of the way as the man falls and she stands up.

“My hero.”

They hear a shout in Russian behind them and start to move again.

“And as for Arthur, the supposed James Bond of this dream,” Ariadne starts, going back to the conversation; “He actually suggested using Mr. Charles for this because obviously, as a man of Kremlin employ, the mark is trained.”

“And he is.”

Ariadne sighs dramatically. “That’s not the point. It’s Mr. Charles!”

“I’m sure he wasn’t serious.”

Ariadne scoffs. “Just wanted to annoy me?”

“Yes, Arthur –” Eames' hat suddenly flies off as they run but neither stops. “ – he’d probably have to pay Dom a copyright fee if he did.”

“Like Dom even thought of it first.”

Eames laughs with a grating sound in his throat from the cold. “Dom practically copyrights all dream work.”

Ariadne swings them around a corner, skidding on more ice. They slam their backs against the wall and wait. The moment two projections following them come into view Ariadne and Eames strike out, fist to nose and foot to knee. Both crash down onto the pavement with the beautiful ‘thunk’ of skull on concrete.

Ariadne pulls her gloves up her wrists more and smiles at Eames. “Did he copyright that?”

Eames steals the fur hat off of one fallen man and shoves it on his head. “I’ll check the books.”

Their zig zag route through back streets, over laid twice by Ariadne’s complicated maze architecture, finally leads the two extractors to the real Saint Petersburg geography of the Neva River. They run across the street, cars mysteriously stopping to let them by before moving again, and to the edge. They both stop and Eames looks down at his watch.

“We have about ten minutes until we need to meet Arthur in the square.” Eames looks up. “Where are we?”

Ariadne points over Eames’ shoulder. “The bridge is there. Best route would be to just follow that road in.”

“Main road though, the projections…”

“It’s fine.” Ariadne tightens her scarf around her neck and blows out a puff of steamed air. “We’re good at running, aren’t we?”

Suddenly, someone slams into Eames from their right out of nowhere and he falls over the low bar beside them into the river below. Ariadne screams in surprise as Eames falls and lashes out erratically. The man, Russian police uniform on, leans back out of the way and hits her in the chest with his nightstick. Ariadne stumbles, falling to her knees. He swings at her again but Ariadne hops back, shifts her weight on to her hands, and kicks the man in the shin. He stumbles and she jumps up, punching him in the stomach. His breath goes out with an audible gasp and he clumsily catches her again in the arm with his nightstick. Ariadne groans in pain but pivots and kicks the stooped man in the shoulder. He falls back onto the ground and drops his stick. Ariadne jumps over his body and grabs the weapon before he can. She clubs him once in the face, his nose cracking, and he’s out.

Ariadne gasps twice, adrenaline receding, then she blinks. “Eames!”

She runs to the edge and looks over. The water is several feet down, just a flat stone wall for it to lap against. Below Eames is struggling to keep his head above water, hands grasping at the stone with nothing to hold onto.

“Eames!” Ariadne shouts again. “Hang on!”

“It’s very…” he sounds weak already, “…cold… Ariad… it’s cold…”

“I’ll get you out!”

Ariadne looks for a way down. Stairs lead down to the water over by the bridge but that is too far away for Eames to swim to with the water this temperature. It may be a dream but he can still get hypothermia and sink to the bottom. Ariadne tries to find something around her to help; unconscious projection, parked cars, and a railing at the edge, nothing.

Ariadne growls. “To hell with this.”

She closes her eyes once hard then opens them. Her architecture twists and she kicks the railing. A square section breaks out smoothly and falls forward. As the black metal swings down it extends, one bar of metal turning into two then three, down and down, until it is a ladder. It bangs against the wall then locks solid into place. Ariadne steps out onto the top and looks down.

“Eames, grab the end!”

Eames looks up and reaches but it’s not quite close enough for him. He heaves himself up again out of the water but his fingers slip on the bar, refusing to respond. Ariadne quickly climbs down the steps until she is at the bottom above the water. She holds out her hand, trying to grab onto Eames, his movements becoming slower and slower.

“Come on, Eames,” she leans back as far as she can with one hand holding the bar and the other reaching out. “Just grab my hand!”

“I hate….” Eames struggles and pushes himself toward her in the water, heavy, sodden clothes weighing him down, pulling his head under. “…hate the cold… oh god…”

“Come on!” He is literally inches away from her finger tips. “You are not fucking drowning in this dream!”

Then their finger tips touch and Ariadne’s warm hand locks like a bear trap around Eames’ icy fingers. She pulls hard. Eames gasps in pain and he latches onto her arm with his other hand. She slowly pulls herself up with her other arm back against the ladder, dragging Eames along.

“I can’t pull you up the ladder though,” Ariadne pants from the effort and she puts their locked hands on the second rung. “You have to do some work here.”

Eames groans and pulls himself up as Ariadne climbs out of his way. “I’ve decided I am not – oh god – as fond of Russia as I thought.”

Eames teeth chatter and his face is very pale but he climbs up the ladder behind Ariadne, both reaching the top without falling back into the river. Ariadne touches Eames arm, steadying the man as he breathes quickly, body shaking.

“You all right?”

“Certainly not.” Eames points over his shoulder. “Just fell…” His teeth clatter together. “…fell in a freezing river.”

“Yes, well, we have five minutes.” She pulls Eames’ arm toward the bridge. “Down the road to Palace Square then you’re free to be warm again.”

Eames groans but begins to jog with her, shedding his wet overcoat and dropping it on the pavement behind them. The two reach the bridge then turn to the left down the road away from the river. Just as they cross the street, projections suddenly reappear around them, the city life busy and vibrant again as though Eames’ dip into the river had kept them distracted until now.

“Crap…” Ariadne whispers though the projections haven’t attacked yet.

Eames still shivers and Ariadne’s body aches from where the Russian cop hit her. They’ve become a bit shabby and the projections on either side watch as they pass. Ariadne loops her arm through Eames and smiles. If the projections aren’t lashing out now then the dream threat has lessened. Either Arthur has the information and is waiting for them or he’s been killed.

“Calm,” Eames whispers to her, hand squeezing her arm. “Arthur will be waiting.”

“As long as I don’t have to run there.”

They continue to walk, pace a bit faster than normal, and all eyes follow their path. Suddenly, they pass under an arch and the world opens up into Palace Square, the Alexander Column drawing the eye to the middle of the flat, open space. The two of them see a familiar figure in a long black coat standing near the base of the column. Though they don’t say anything to each other, Ariadne and Eames break into a run at the same time.

Arthur frowns as the two of them clamor to a stop in front of him, gasping sharply in the cold.

“And where have you two been?” Arthur looks up and down Eames’ wet figure. “Swimming?”

Eames scoffs angrily through chattering teeth and throws a wet glove at Arthur’s chest.

“You got it?” Ariadne asks.

Arthur pulls a piece of paper from an inside pocket of his pea coat and holds it up. “Of course and our mark is back to work in his office none the wiser right now.”

Ariadne and Eames both sigh happily as Edith Piaf begins to sing “La Foule” from above, a French contrast to the stark chill of Russia around them. Arthur’s eyes flick up then down again, back and forth between Ariadne and Eames. He crosses his arms.

“Okay, what happened this time?”

“He was –”

“She just –”

“- and in the water – ”

“ – she’s always showing off –”

“ – and that stupid cop hit my arm –”

“– I’d rather be bloody shot than drown –”

“– It’s my own fault for building so many alleyways –”

Arthur waves his hands. “All right, all right! Jeeze, can’t leave you two alone!”

Ariadne and Eames start to laugh, Arthur smiles, and Russia disappears into a brown studio ceiling as they open their eyes.

\----------------

When Arthur hears a knock at his door he’s not so much worried as surprised. People do not generally knock on Arthur’s door. Most people who would come to see Arthur call beforehand or they have their own key, i.e. – Ariadne and Eames. It’s not as though Arthur goes out and socializes at the bar or with anyone in his building.

Of course when he opens his door to a gun pointed in his face, Arthur remembers he does in fact have a peep hole for a reason. Clearly, he’s slipping or maybe it’s just a Sunday.

Arthur puts up his hands slowly. “What, no hello?”

The man steps to the left and Nicholas Freeman slides into his place. Arthur is pleased that he does not gasp in surprise or back away in any sort of movie scene terror. He does however frown at the memory of the botched job. He never did figure out what error caused Freeman to realize he was dreaming and send the whole thing to pieces complete with a sword stabbed Eames.

“Arthur.” Freeman holds out his hand. “I believe you remember me.”

Arthur stares at his hand then looks up again, arms remaining where they are. “And now I have to move.”

“And it’s such a nice apartment you have,” Freeman says. “Though I doubt this is your only one.”

Arthur sighs and drops his hands. “Is this a cold kill call or should I be bracing myself for torture?”

Freeman laughs and shakes his head. “Only two choices? Don’t you have any sort of imagination?”

Arthur bristles at the phrase and his hand slips unconsciously into his pants pocket to finger his die. Nope, not dreaming. Suddenly, a door slams behind him and Arthur turns to see Ariadne standing in front of the full wall windows of the living room, Arthur’s glock trained just over Arthur’s shoulder at the men in the doorway.

“Put it down,” she commands.

“Two for the price of one.” Freeman says, looking unperturbed as he straightens his paisley tie. “What a surprise!”

Ariadne takes two steps forward. “If you found Arthur than you must have known he wasn’t the only one of us with an apartment in New York, if you did your research thoroughly.” She tilts her head and makes a face. “Shouldn’t be a surprise I’m here.”

“Mexican stand off then?”

Ariadne cocks the gun. “Depends who’s faster.”

Freeman whistles in appreciation and grins at Arthur. “Your girl, is she?”

Suddenly, the muzzle of a gun presses against Freeman’s head and a hammer cocks loudly. Arthur can’t stop a grin as Freeman’s eyes widen slightly and the body guard twitches in surprise.

“Time to back away,” Eames says, “It’s two to us and one to you now.”

“Ah…” Freeman swallows. “The third. Never did find out much about you.” He looks back at Arthur. “It’s your boy not your girl, isn’t it?”

Arthur just raises his eyebrows once.

Eames chuckles. “We forgers are tricky fellows.”

“Drop it.” Arthur points at the body guard.

The man glances at Freeman who nods back. He drops his arm and steps away behind Freeman, holstering his gun. Ariadne drops her gun and Eames moves off a little, though he keeps his gun pointed at Freeman’s head. Freeman frowns and looks at Eames.

“Is that really necessary?”

Eames raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Freeman straightens his jacket and turns back to Arthur. “Surprised as you all might be, it isn’t. I’m not here on a vengeance call.” He looks at Ariadne and Eames to emphasize his point then holds out his arms openly. “I’m here because I would like to hire the three of you for a job.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “A job?”

“What?” Ariadne says, walking over to stand behind Arthur. “Really?”

Eames tilts his head. “You do mean an extraction job, of course?”

Freeman inclines his head forward and smiles. “That I do.”

Eames looks at Arthur who gazes back, brow furrowed, then shoots a glance at Ariadne. Everyone stands silent for a beat then Eames drops his arm.

“It’s Saito all over again.”

Arthur points. “That wasn’t you to start.”

“Thank God.”

“Aw,” Ariadne grips Arthur’s shoulder and shakes once. “We love Saito, brought us all together.”

Eames snorts and smiles.

“Please,” Arthur grumbles.

Freeman glances between them. “Clearly, I am out of this loop.”

Arthur glares. “And you’re staying there.”

“All right.” Ariadne maneuvers Arthur to the side. “If this is business then come in and let’s get to it.” She holds out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you for real, Mr. Freeman, I’m Ariadne.”

Freeman smiles and shakes her hand as he walks in. “Far more pleasurable than last time.”

Eames grunts and shakes his head, closing the door behind them. “If this job involves swords I am sitting it out, thank you.”

Freeman only gives Eames a quizzical look as Ariadne and Arthur grin.

\---------------

Eames opens his eyes and sees books, stacks of books, rows of books, shelves of books, three floors up into the air of books and books. He’s sitting at a long table on the ground floor, a small reading lamp at his wrist and the atrium ceiling far above. Three floors up with more shelves surround the center on all sides, circular staircases at the corners to give access to these floors. Eames doesn’t see their mark, Arthur or Ariadne.

“Bollocks.”

Eames stands from his seat and walks down the middle between rows of tables, projections bent over books and writing on legal pads.

“Eames.”

Eames looks up at the stage whisper and sees Ariadne on the floor above. Eames gestures at her and she shrugs her shoulders. Then someone touches Eames’ shoulder.

“Have you found Stephen yet?”

Arthur hands Eames a small briefcase and looks up at Ariadne. He mouths ‘can you see him?’ Ariadne shakes her head and walks out of their line of sight toward a set of stairs.

“With a maze of books like this he could be anywhere.”

Arthur turns back to Eames. “He won’t be too deep. His subconscious wouldn’t want him getting lost.”

“Ah, but he does that, remember?” Eames pulls Arthur by the arm into the stacks out of the atrium. “Your research said he could spend days here.”

“Obviously an unhealthy habit.”

“Hey.” Ariadne comes jogging up. “I saw him as I came down, second floor, this side.” She looks Eames up and down. “Why are you still you?”

“So Arthur wouldn’t get lonely.” Eames bats his eyelashes.

Arthur scoffs. “Go on.”

Ariadne pulls the large mirror in the briefcase out and holds it up for Eames. Arthur hands Eames Victoria’s archive ID badge and a gold bracelet. Eames clips the badge to his belt loop and stares in the mirror. After a minute he breathes in slowly and slips the bracelet over his thinner wrist.

“Do you have a hair tie?” Eames asks Ariadne.

She chuckles and puts the mirror down, pulling a hair tie off her wrist. Eames smiles at her with red lips and pulls his long brown hair back into a pony tail. Then he slings the briefcase strap over his shoulder, buttons his gray suit jacket and walks away from the two of them with a click of heels.

“He really loves doing that,” Ariadne remarks.

Arthur frowns. “He just wishes he could keep those hips when he wakes up.”

“He does or you do?”

Arthur makes a barely noticeable choking noise and pointedly does not look at Ariadne. She snickers and glances back out at the atrium.

“So far, so good. Split up?”

Arthur checks the gun in his holster then nods at Ariadne. “You take the front, stay where Eames will be able to see you. I’ll follow up stairs and watch from across. If Stephen gives up the number easily enough we’ll just wait for the kick.”

“Get in some reading?”

Arthur looks up at the books alongside them but doesn’t comment. “There could be trouble too, Stephen is very private.”

“Really?” Ariadne shakes her head. “God, if only I’d read your research to learn that.”

Arthur punches her shoulder lightly. “Smart ass.”

“It’s because I hang around you and Eames too much. I used to be such a nice girl.”

“When was that, when you were born?”

“Now who’s the ass?”

They look at each other and fight to keep in their laughter. Ariadne makes a mocking face at Arthur then turns and walks out into the atrium again.

Upstairs, Eames walks along the second floor railing, past the rows of book shelves, looking for his forge’s father. He finds Stephen at the end of a rack near a large circular window on the face of the building.

“Dad?”

Stephen jerks his head up suddenly. “Victoria? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at Brown?”

Eames smiles and shrugs. “I came down to visit. I don’t have class on Friday.”

Stephen’s face quirks and suddenly all the quiet whispers from the floor below stop. Eames steps forward and hugs Stephen hard.

“It’s so good to see you, it’s been months!”

A person coughs then the whispers resume as Stephen wraps his arm around Victoria. “You look lovely.” Stephen closes the book in his other hand and carefully puts it back on the shelf. “So, you just came down for a visit?”

Now it’s time for treacherous territory. Their client wants a number, a combination for a bank box, something only Stephen knows. Eames decided the best bet for his forge, someone Stephen would trust this to, would have to be his only daughter. Of course, they didn’t know for sure if Stephen would tell anyone the combination regardless of trust. The three of them don’t even know what is in the box. They are just gunning for those five little numbers from their mark then the box number in the dream safe. It’s a bit of a gamble with a secretive man like Stephen but they aren’t the best for nothing.

Eames breathes in slowly, “I actually do have a reason.”

Stephen huffs and shakes his head. “Of course, my daughter the go getter. Is this about the internship? I could still set that up.”

“No.” Eames turns and walks down the isle toward the stairs, Stephen following. “But I do need something from you. I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

Stephen walks slowly and adjusts his glasses on his face. “Vicky, you’re my only child and you know, as your father, I live for you.”

Eames laughs, voice high and bell-like. “You just say that because you have to.”

Arthur watches from the opposite side of the second level across the open space in between. Stephen and Victoria are stopped at the top of the stairs. So far the projections haven’t moved, haven’t bothered them, but Arthur can tell that Eames hasn’t asked about the combination yet.

“Come on.” Arthur grits his teeth. “Just get it over with.”

Down below, Ariadne sits at a table where she can easily see both Arthur and Eames with Stephen. Everything is calm, the light is correct; her architecture is prefect in place with individual books titles abounding all the way up to the fourth floor. Everything is set.

“Let’s go,” Ariadne whispers.

“I need the combination to your lock box,” Eames asks.

Suddenly, all the books on the shelf to the right of Ariadne tumble off on to the floor. Ariadne jumps up and knocks into a projection beside her in surprise.

“What?” Stephen looks completely shocked and just a touch angry. “Why in the world would you need that? There is nothing in there you need.”

“Dad.” Eames carefully lays a hand on Stephen’s shoulder. “You need to tell me sometime. It’s important and you can’t just have that locked in your head alone.”

Up above on the top floor Arthur hears what sounds like book shelves falling down on top of each other, heavy dominos destroying fine wood. The sound echoes through the chamber and projections begin to stand up slowly from tables, eyes coasting around for what is wrong.

“Shit…” Arthur slides carefully back into a row of shelves to keep him more concealed. “Come on…”

Eames eyes flick up once then back to Stephen.

“Is this your lawyer training coming in?” Stephen turns away and walks up the stairs. “You’re not a lawyer yet, dear, and I do not need your counsel on my decisions.”

“Dad.” Eames chases after Stephen up the stairs. “I’m not going to open it; I just want the combination. What if something were to happen to you? I need to know it.”

They reach the landing of the third floor and the moment Eames’ heel leaves the step the stairs buckle and break and crash down to the floor below. Eames jumps away and grabs the edge of a book self, dropping the briefcase from his shoulder. Stephen remains oblivious and Eames keeps his forge solid. He shoots a look down at Arthur staring up at him.

On the first floor projections have begun to close in on Ariadne. They stand still around the tables all staring at her. She looks up at Arthur and circles her hand to hurry them.

“Come on, I’d like to not die yet.”

Arthur shakes his head at her and holds up two fingers. Eames just needs a little more time. The dream is shaking up but it’s not collapsing. They still have Stephen focused and that’s all they need.

Arthur grips the butt of his Glock in his holster. “One more step.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me dear.” Stephen walks down the row past book shelves. “The box is personal and important to me, you know that.”

“Dad, wait.” Eames grabs Stephen’s arm to stop him.

Stephen halts in surprise and turns to stare at Victoria. “What, Vicky? Why is this so important?”

Eames clears his throat and clasps his hands together. He sighs and twirls the end of his ponytail in his fingers.

“Dad.” He sighs and looks away, voice low and perhaps a little teary. “Look, with that scare last October and the way things are for me with school… It’s important to me, important that… I just… I just want security and I want you to feel like you can trust me.” He looks back and, by god, there are tears in his eyes. “You do trust me, don’t you?”

The projections still and their eyes turn upward, everything in the dream focuses on Victoria and Stephen. Stephen stares at his daughter, arms crossed. He bites the edge of his lip and sighs. Then he reaches out and touches Victoria’s hand.

“The Time Machine.”

Eames blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“It was your mother’s favorite. The year that book was published and the month you were born.” Stephen shrugs. “You know how I like riddles. I couldn’t help it.” Stephen chuckles. “So there you are.”

Eames blinks. “Oh. Of course.”

“Shit. When did it come out?” Arthur looks over the railing at Ariadne but she shakes her head.

“Oh god, we’re in a library,” Ariadne moans. “It has to be in here.” She snaps and shouts up at Arthur. “Fiction is another floor up, Arthur, go!”

Arthur runs for the stairs and Ariadne runs for the card catalog. She skids around curious projections and slams into the old wooden drawers filled with index cards.

“T… T….” She yanks open drawers letting them fall to the ground, scattering cards. “Ti… Ti…”

The room suddenly shakes and books fall somewhere behind her.

“Great… time crunch for the Dewey decimal system.”

She flips through cards, yanking out whole sections until…

“Arthur!” She screams. “Fourth row, third shelf down, it should be there!”

Arthur nearly trips at Ariadne’s scream when he reaches the floor. He sees Eames watching him out of the corner of his eye then slides down the fourth row.

“I can’t believe I am looking up a book...”

Arthur scans the titles on the third shelf until he sees ‘The Time Machine.’ He pulls it from the shelf and opens the cover, second page. He smirks. Eames’ forge, Victoria, was born in January and ‘The Time Machine’ was published in 1895.

“18951.”

Suddenly, the book shelves beside Eames and Arthur explode. Shelves splinter, wood flying like torpedoes, and books slam outward into open air. A pointed chunk of wood slices deeply through Arthur’s arm and he shouts in pain. Eames drops to the floor as Stephen walks away as though nothing is happening.

“Good for him then.” Eames grunts and pulls himself to his knees, long hair gone and thankfully no more heels. “Arthur!”

Across the air on the other side Arthur is lying on his stomach, not moving.

Down below, Ariadne bolts down the halls as projections chase on her. She turns and tries to shoot back but dozens are following her now. She crashes into a chair, knocking herself over. However, she jumps back up as projections try to pin her down.

“Get off!”

She kicks and shoots the nearest people then jumps up onto the table.

“Eames!” Ariadne shouts up.

“Arthur!” Eames shouts across.

“Eames! Did he get it?”

“Arthur, get up!”

Ariadne switches and sees Arthur lying on the floor up above. Books begin to fall down from the upper levels like square hail. She jumps from table to table, dodging projection hands and falling books; pages rip and flutter around her as books land on the floor.

Eames runs past rows of books trying to get to the other side. He can’t tell if Arthur is really hurt or just knocked out temporarily. His brain tells him they’re just in a dream now, only a dream, Arthur will be fine, but his heart is hammering. He has to get to Arthur as fast as possible.

“Arthur!” Eames shouts again as he runs. “Arthur, please, get up!”

Arthur suddenly jolts up like he was electrocuted, grasping his arm with a pained groan. Before he can stand up all the way the shelves explode again, knocking him to his knees. Eames ducks down and slides around the corner, narrowly missing a large stack of books which are clearly dictionaries. They smash into a support beam and part of the wood floor above Eames creaks and breaks.

“Eames!” Arthur shouts, shooting down below at projections to help Ariadne. “Eames, I found –”

Arthur is cut off as suddenly the shelf beside him breaks in half and the wood slams into Arthur’s bad arm. The sound snaps and Arthur screams, smashing into the guard rail beside him which breaks instantly.

“Arthur!” Eames jumps up and rounds the last corner over to Arthur’s side.

Arthur falls with books around him and manages to grab a loose beam swinging out over the precipice as he falls, one hand suspending him in air above the floor. Blood seeps down the side of his head where the wood hit him and he’s holding the beam with his bad arm. It feels like fire coursing through him.

“Arthur, hold on!” Ariadne shouts up. “I can change the dream; I can catch you!”

“Don’t!” Arthur groans. “It’s too unstable.”

“Go to the safe, Ariadne,” Eames shouts as he reaches where Arthur hangs. “We still need the box number. It will be in there now!”

“I will, I –” Ariadne starts but a projection suddenly jumps on the table. Ariadne cuts off to flip around and strike back with a punch.

Eames drops to his knees and reaches out over the hole in the floor to where Arthur clings to the half broken beam.

“Come on, darling, reach out.”

Arthur tries to swing himself forward but he shorts it and his wounded arm won’t do anything but hang on. Eames eases himself out onto a bit of the beam, reaching further.

“Come on, almost there, sweetheart.”

“Say one more pet name, I swear to god!”

Eames grins and their hands connect. “Got you, love.”

Then the beam breaks and Eames falls forward. He grabs the edge of the floor as they fall and uses the momentum to swing them onto the floor below, beam crashing down to the ground floor. Arthur hits the banister with a groan then tumbles on to the second floor, Eames following after. They lie flat on their backs for a moment, panting. Eames laughs and rolls over, arm across Arthur’s chest.

“Saved your life.”

Arthur rolls his eyes with a grimace and pushes Eames off. “Enough.”

Eames sits up on his haunches, noticing the blood staining the arm of Arthur’s suit and line down the side of his head. Eames kisses Arthur’s forehead and squeezes his hand.

“Almost done.”

Arthur gasps and breathes in slowly. “Yeah, almost done.”

Suddenly they hear Ariadne scream, high and loud. Arthur and Eames jump to their feet to see at least six projections pulling Ariadne off of a table and down onto the ground.

“Help!” she screams. “I can’t -”

Arthur and Eames pull their guns as the same time shooting the projections holding Ariadne down. Half of the projections look up and make for the stairs. Three projections fall then Ariadne punches one with her now free hand. She squirms back out of the way and gets to her feet.

“I’m okay!”

“Go to the safe!” Arthur shouts. “We’ll draw them away.”

Ariadne shoots a projection and spares a moment to glare at Arthur. “Don’t think I don’t see you bleeding, cut that out!”

“Go to the safe!”

Ariadne shakes her head then spins around and takes off in the other direction, slamming the atrium doors closed behind her to keep off the projections at least for a little bit. The moment the doors close Arthur suddenly jumps up onto the banister.

“Wait.” Eames looks up at Arthur. “You can’t, you’re….”

Arthur jumps down and lands on a table below, scattering lamps and books, then begins to shoot every projection in his sights.

“Bloody…” Eames pulls himself up onto the banister. “Bleeding arm and he’s still jumping off things…”

Eames jumps down and lands beside Arthur. Before he can shoot a projection grabs Eames’ foot and he falls down onto the table. He flips onto his back and kicks the woman in the face. She flies backward, hitting another projection as she falls. Arthur grabs Eames’ collar with his good arm and pulls Eames up.

“Come on, let’s cover our girl.”

“Hmm.” Eames jumps off the table after Arthur. “’Our girl.’ She’d probably punch you for that.”

“Sure but I have you to protect me.” Arthur shoots once over Eames’ shoulder and Eames hears someone fall. Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “You’re my man.”

Eames blinks. “I may in fact swoon now.”

“Later.” Arthur pushes Eames forward. “Let’s go, avoid the books.”

Behind the manager’s desk, Stephen’s chair pushed away, Ariadne crouches in front of the safe. She keys in ‘18951’ and the door pops open. Inside rests one plain white index card. Ariadne pulls the card out and stands up. Arthur and Eames come running over, Eames shooting behind them. They skid to the stop in front of the desk.

“Box number?” Eames asks.

Ariadne turns the card around and they all say it at once, “707.”

“Box number and combination.” Ariadne puts the card down and claps her hands. “Win for the extractors!”

“Fabulous,” Eames says, “shall we be torn apart now?”

Arthur checks his watch. “Nope.”

Ariadne breathes out quickly. “Good cause that hurts like hell.”

The projections catch up right behind Arthur and Eames, light fills the hall, bright and blinding. Ariadne smiles and cocks her head at Arthur and Eames. Then the books go blank and the dream clicks off as the time hits zero.

\------------

Arthur, Eames, and Ariadne stand in the middle of a cobble stone street, short buildings on both sides and a church with three tall spires rising in the distance. Beyond the modest church loom tree covered hills. The buildings do not look shabby but neither are they elegant or cosmopolitan. Some are made of wood, others of stone; the building closest to Ariadne on their right is white with two green windows and a green door, all closed. The next building is yellow the next white, a small tree in between, then stone then white again. The street dips slightly in the middle and some water remains pooled at the deepest points as if from recent rain. A few buildings further down toward the church have signs posted out front, ‘Abrir’ and ‘Bem-vindo.’

Ariadne holds out her hands. “So? What do you think?”

Eames nods and taps his foot against the wheel of a bicycle leaning against the wall of one building. “Classic Brazil.”

Arthur ‘tut tuts.’ “It could just as easily be Colombia or Argentina.”

“Or just as easily Brazil.” Eames counters.

“You don’t like the church?” Ariadne points. “Definitely not like Colombia for a start.”

“She’s right.” Eames walks down the cobble stone toward the church a few steps then turns back to them, pointing over his shoulder. “Plus, that is classic Brazilian architecture.” He puckers his lips at Ariadne. “Not from a book I hope.”

She cocks an eyebrow.

“All right.” Arthur walks over to one building and runs his hand along the curved peak of the window. “Tried projections yet?”

“Why? Do you want to populate it? Don’t like my taste in projections?” Ariadne says sarcastically.

Eames laughs once.

“I was just asking,” Arthur replies calmly.

Ariadne holds up her hands in concession then her eyes sweep quickly over their surroundings. The air grows a touch hotter, the sun a bit brighter and a woman brushes by Eames, flipping her dark hair. A man on a bike speeds by Arthur shouting something in Portuguese. The small restaurant nearby seats a couple out front and a cluster of old men begin walking toward the church.

“Ah.” Eames sighs and steps beside Arthur to squeeze his hand once before he turns back. “Small towns can be quite lovely. Wonderful work, Ariadne.”

Ariadne inclines her head forward in acknowledgement then her eyes flick to Arthur. He watches Eames walk down the road for a moment then looks at Ariadne. He smiles.

“The hotel?”

“If you can call it that,” Eames calls over his shoulder.

Ariadne points past Eames. “Down the alley and up the next street, beautiful view of the church and the hills; should feel right at home.”

Arthur grins again. “It’s great.”

“Love the colors.” Eames turns around and walks back over to them. “Trying to match my wardrobe, are you?”

Ariadne shakes her head. “I see no orange.”

Eames grins. “I’m sure I can find some, maybe red and teal as well.”

“Now you’re just being silly,” Arthur says.

Eames kisses Arthur’s check. “Oh, I do hope so.”

“Lovely!” Ariadne claps her hands and turns 360 degrees in place.

She looks up at the sky, looks down the street, counts on her fingers. She turns back to the boys then rubs her hands together, architecture satisfactory to her scrutiny. Then she suddenly smiles with a glint in her eye.

“What?” They both ask.

“Should we have a drink before we wake up?” Ariadne wiggles her eyebrows.

Arthur purses his lips.

Eames grins and raises his eyebrows as well. “And another after?”

Ariadne barks a laugh then flicks up her fingers with a ‘so?’ expression on her face.

Arthur waves a hand. “Have at it.”

Ariadne clears her throat and slowly, carefully, they watch as the white and green building beside them changes. The windows slide open, the roof grows taller and the empty road out front sprouts two sets of tables and chairs. The door swings inward and they can hear the sound of a pleasant rural bar inside.

Arthur leans in, putting a hand on the small of Eames’ back, and sings close to his ear, “Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away.”

Eames smiles slowly and looks at Arthur out of the corner of his eye.

“If you could use some exotic booze, there’s a bar in far Bombay.”

Eames turns his head so his lips are only a few inches from Arthur’s. “Brazil.”

Arthur touches Eames’ hip with his other hand and sways them side to side twice. “Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away.”

Eames kisses Arthur. “Hmm, Float down to Peru?”

Suddenly Ariadne clears her throat. “If you’re all done being romantic and Sinatra-like,” Ariadne holds out her hand toward the newly made bar. “Shall we?”

The two turn around still grinning a bit like school boys. Ariadne only shakes her head and smiles. Eames slides his one arm under Arthur’s to wrap around his waist and holds out his right arm for Ariadne. She takes it with a nod.

“I’ll buy you both a pint,” Eames says, “but only because you’re so pretty.”

“Best reason there is,” Ariadne replies.

Arthur just kisses the corner of Eames’ mouth.

They step forward and walk inside, dreams of drink and happiness and a nice small world built as they see fit. Together they walk and together they stay, in job and life, in danger and safety, in dreams and especially reality: the architect, the forger and the point man.


End file.
